


can't be close enough (unless I'm feeling your heartbeat)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Background Slash, F/F, Getting Together, Magic, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after Cora Hale returns to Beacon Hills, she meets Lydia Martin in an alleyway, right after she throws Lydia's ex-boyfriend into a dumpster.  Cora has no intentions of getting any further involved in the girl's business, nor does she plan on saying yes when Lydia asks her on a date. </p><p>Then again, Cora also had no intentions of ever becoming a vigilante but of course, that doesn't go according to plan either. </p><p>It must be something in the water.  Things <i>never</i> got this weird in Brazil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't be close enough (unless I'm feeling your heartbeat)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenellaevangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/gifts).



> Written for Round One of the Teen Wolf Femslash Holiday Exchange. I used the prompts "character A defends or protects character B," "secret relationships," "vigilante AU," and "characters using magic," plus some vague allusions to claiming. (:
> 
> major thanks to Sydburf for being a fantastic beta. (: story title from [All of Your Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4Wq5YEjE-s) by Hellogoodbye.

It takes Cora less than a week to realize that in the years she's been gone, Beacon Hills hasn't changed. There are still way too many abandoned buildings that loom like eyeless monsters above the sidewalks, too many people who can't drive and, worst of all, there are still too many idiots. 

She's on her way back from her first lecture at the local community college that Derek had talked her into applying to (if talked meant “bugged her relentlessly until she did it to make him shut up”). She hadn't expected to get in, frankly. Sure, she'd had her GED for months, but her grades weren't exactly stellar, there were gaps in her education history that could really only be explained by the word werewolf and she'd _definitely_ half-assed the short essay she'd been required to submit with her application. 

She has a feeling that Derek probably paid someone off in order to get her into the school. She'd asked him point blank and while he'd simply flared his nostrils and glared at her, it had been enough to all but confirm her suspicions. 

Even though her first sociology lecture had only maybe fifty people in it, almost every student that had opened their mouth had sounded like a complete and utter jackass. Some of the things they'd said had been so ignorant that she'd had a very difficult time restraining herself from slamming someone's head into a desk. 

It has to be something in the water. People weren't this stupid in Brazil. 

Her bad mood persists after she leaves the class. It only takes fifteen minutes to get back to the house if she cuts across a few side streets and runs through the preserve, but getting to the freedom of the trees seems to take forever. She doesn't remember Beacon Hills smelling this gross when she was younger, but every block stinks more like oil and gasoline and smog. Frankly, it's disgusting, and it puts her in an even worse mood. 

She thinks that when she gets back home, she's packing up her shit and saying adios. Coming back to this place was a bad idea. 

She turns into an alleyway as a shortcut and that's when she hears voices. They're coming from about halfway up the alley, one male, one female. For a few moments, she considers bypassing them; she could always just take a longer route, or climb up a building, but Derek has warned her about drawing too much attention to herself, and frankly, she wants to get home as soon as possible. So she strides forward, eyes ahead, hoping to get through without being noticed. 

"There was absolutely no reason for you to interfere," the female voice says. As Cora gets closer, she sees that it's coming from a petite girl with long, strawberry blonde hair, leaning against the brick wall of a building, arms crossed over her chest. She looks completely and utterly bored with the conversation. “I had everything under control.”

"I was just trying to help." The male voice is coming from a guy who looks so much like some of the assholes in her sociology class that Cora can't help but twitch. He's got a clean-shaven face, a square jaw and a haircut that probably cost more than her entire outfit. He looks like the kind of guy who doesn't take no for an answer, in any respect. 

"Well I didn't _need_ your help, Jackson," the girl says, rolling her eyes. "You just slowed me down." 

"That's bullshit and you know it." Cora has almost reached them now and suddenly, the guy (Jackson, she presumes) glances back over his shoulder as the girl goes back to examining her long, vivid red fingernails like they're the most interesting thing in the world. 

"What the hell are you looking at?" he snaps and oh, that is it. While Cora had zero plans of getting involved (she makes a point of staying away from other people's business, especially when it's of the emotional variety), she's not in the habit of taking anybody's shit, especially when it's coming from a guy who seems to think it necessary to corner someone in order to talk to them.

Conveniently, there's a dumpster a little further down the alley; even better, the lid of it is propped open. So, without breaking stride, Cora seizes the guy by the collar of his blazer and, with only a little exertion, tosses him into the container. A torrent of swear words begin to fall from his mouth and, on second thought, she slams the lid of the dumpster closed, effectively muffling him. 

Unsurprisingly, it makes her feel a lot better. 

"You know, he wasn't actually bothering me." When Cora turns around, the girl is glancing at the dumpster with a look that's almost admiring. "He may be an asshole, but he's harmless."

"You're welcome," Cora snaps, rolling her eyes and continuing on her way. The preserve is so close and she can't wait to get amongst the trees, can't wait to run off some of the stress sitting on her shoulders. 

She doesn't even make it to the mouth of the alley before the girl catches up with her. This in itself is an impressive enough feat (because a) werewolf and b) the girl is wearing four-inch heels that look sharp enough to double as weapons), so Cora stops and turns, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Can I help you? Again?" The girl stays quiet for a moment, looking at her with one eyebrow raised like she's studying Cora. 

"This whole snarky thing, is it just a ruse or are you genuinely like this all the time?" the girl asks once she's done staring. 

"What do you think?"

"That we should go get coffee sometime." 

"What?" Cora is beginning to think that everyone in this town has also gone insane in the years she's been gone. It would sure explain a lot.

"Coffee," the girl repeats. "I'll pay. Tomorrow, if you aren't busy."

"Okay," Cora blurts, completely surprising herself. Maybe the insanity is contagious. It's not that the girl isn't beautiful, because she is. Her hair is hanging in ringlets past her shoulders and she has green eyes and lips that are very, very pink, almost obscenely so. But Cora hasn't gone on a date with anyone in years (anyone human at least and, after awhile, she even scared off the other werewolves) and yet here she is, agreeing to a coffee date with a girl she doesn't even know, a girl whose boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) she may have just tossed into a dumpster. 

She still doesn't feel guilty about that. She considers it a community service. 

"Great! There's a neat place just around the corner. Meet you there at six?" 

_No_ is what Cora means to push past her lips, but they refuse to part, and she nods instead. The girl smiles and looks back over her shoulder just as the asshole manages to push the dumpster's lid up. 

"I'll see you then," she says before turning on her heels, dress swishing around her knees as she walks away. She's gotten to the corner before Cora realizes she doesn't know the name of the place where she's supposed to meet the girl; hell, she doesn't even know the _girl's_ name. 

She also realizes she's been standing in the same spot for at least a minute, and frankly, she doesn't feel like dealing with Jackson again, so she heads in the opposite direction towards the preserve. Once she's entered the tree line, she lets herself run, backpack bouncing on her shoulders, taking deep breaths of the clean(er) air. 

She's almost at the house when she catches a scent. It smells human and immediately, her hackles rise. There shouldn't be anyone out here at this time of night, not anyone with good intentions at least. As she gets closer, the scent gets stronger and stronger, until it's nearly overwhelming. It's coming from a bush just beyond the glow being cast by the light over the front door of their house. It could be a trap, or it could be a hunter, and while Cora knows she _should_ get Derek, she can definitely only smell one person. How dangerous could it possibly be? 

She reaches into the bush, seizes a fistful of what feels like a hoodie and yanks _hard_. She starts rolling her eyes before the 'threat' even hits the ground. 

"Ow, ow, Cora, watch the claws!"

"Stiles, what the fuck are you doing?" she asks, glaring down at her brother's boyfriend. He's loud, hyper, and seems to only consume food that contains ridiculous amounts of sugar. Worse than that, he's also nosy as fuck and constantly prattles on about his job as an intern at the local newspaper. He even has a police scanner set up in Derek's bedroom so he can try to get the scoop on stories before the other reporters can. 

She doesn't like him. 

"I was trying to get the jump on Derek," he says, holding his hands up like he's afraid Cora is going to gut him, and she has to admit, the panicked expression on his face _is_ rather funny. 

"Not going to happen." When Cora turns around, Derek is standing on the front porch, arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows are raised and his lips are quirked up into an amused smirk that she doesn't recognize. 

"How long have you known I was out here?" Stiles asks, clambering to his feet and brushing his jeans off. 

"For the last two hours.”

"Derek, _why_ do you date this idiot?" Cora asks, not for the first time. 

"Why do you smell like an alley? Is that _perfume_?" Derek retorts and Cora can't help but roll her eyes again. Answering a question with a question is _very_ mature. She doesn't bother to give him a response; she brushes past him, stomps upstairs and collapses on her bed. She’s still trying to figure out what the fuck happened back in the alley. 

After a few moments, she decides to hold off on packing her bags and skipping town. Sure, it's not like the date (if she can even call it that) is going to lead to anything, but hey, free coffee is free coffee. 

Still, she thinks she'll get it to go. Just in case.

&. 

She wakes to one of the most unpleasant things she can think of: Derek vigorously shaking her awake. 

“Cora, get up.” 

“Fuck off,” she snaps, pulling her pillow over her head. “Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

“Yeah, and so do you. You've got class in half an hour, so get up.” Cora considers cursing him out again but she knows that it won't deter him, so she simply groans and throws her blankets off. 

“You do know that I'm not five anymore, right?” she asks, rubbing at her eyes. She can tell that her hair is a mess without even looking at it but it doesn't sound like she'll have time to fit in a shower. Maybe before her date tonight-

Oh God. She has a _date_ tonight. She'd been half convinced that was a dream. 

As it turns out, she doesn't just have one class that day, she has three in a row. She doesn't remember signing up for them (she _did_ pick her classes almost entirely at random so while she knows that it's likely her own fault, she's blaming Derek for that too), and by the time she's finally done for the day, she only has half an hour before she has to meet the mystery girl at the coffee shop. 

There go all her plans of making herself look presentable. 

She takes her time, not only because she doesn't want to attract any undue attention but because frankly, the closer she gets to the coffee shop, the more she becomes convinced that this whole thing was a bad idea. She has no idea who this girl is; for all she knows, she could be a hunter and that is _not_ something Cora wants to get mixed up in. By the time she reaches the street that the coffee shop is located on, she's pretty well made up her mind to just keep walking, to head back to the preserve and go for a run or work out until she's forgotten all about mystery girl. 

But that's before she sees the man running towards her. In one hand, he's gripping a bulging canvas bag, which in itself is strange, but it's the thing in his _other_ hand that Cora is more concerned about. It's a well-polished handgun, glinting in the sun and just like that, Cora stops thinking. Yes, it's likely that the gun is just loaded with normal bullets (which would hurt but she's been through worse), but if there's one thing that's ingrained in her, it's that a gun equals danger. 

The guy doesn't even seem to notice that she's there; he just keeps running, barreling through the other people on the sidewalk. When he's only a foot from her, Cora swings her arm out. It collides with the bottom of the man's jaw and he drops to the sidewalk like a brick. When the bag hits the ground, the top of it opens just wide enough for Cora to see that it's full of bundles of cash. The paper holding the bills together is marked with a stamp from the bank just down the street and, seeing as the guy was running and had a gun, Cora doubts that he just made a withdrawal. 

The longer she looks at the scene, the more convinced she is that she just clotheslined a bank robber.

Other people on the street are starting to stop as well and she can hear a siren in the distance, getting closer and closer. This is _not_ how she wants to spend her evening. So she ducks into the closest doorway and takes a deep breath, which smells a lot like coffee... because of course, of all the businesses on the block, she's stepped into the very coffee shop that she was going to walk right on past. 

Fuck.

“Nice moves.” Cora swivels her head and sure enough, mystery girl is sitting at the table right next to the window, a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and while her heels look a little smaller today, they're no less sharp. There's another cup in front of her and the girl pushes it across the table after she removes her gaze from the window. 

“It's just black. I had a feeling you wouldn't mind.” Cora glances briefly back out at the street before making a split second decision, sliding into the chair in front of the cup of coffee. 

“You were right,” she says. “Black's fine.” The girl just smiles and takes a sip of her tea before she extends her hand across the table, pink nails perfectly manicured. 

“I'm Lydia.” 

“Cora,” she responds, taking the offered hand for only a moment, all too aware of how her own hands are dry and her nails are ragged. Before she can take a sip of her own drink, the sirens come to a crescendo as an ambulance and a few cop cars pull up outside. Cora feels her shoulders stiffen. She knows it's only a matter of time before someone points the cops in her direction.

“Don't worry,” Lydia says, taking another glance out the window. “I'll make sure they don't know it was you.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“You'll see. I have an idea.”

After ten long minutes of small talk that Cora fumbles her way through, a deputy comes into the shop and immediately zeroes in on their table. 

“Excuse me,” he says, eyes on Cora, “is there any chance that I could ask you a few questions? You match the description that a number of witnesses gave us of the person who stopped that man.” Before Cora can even begin to think of words to put together, Lydia's hand drops onto hers, subtly manipulating it so that she can thread their fingers together. 

“You must be mistaken, deputy,” she says, flashing him a beaming smile. “My girlfriend and I have been here for the past two hours. It's our anniversary, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Cora manages to spit out, forcing a matching smile onto her face and making a point of squeezing Lydia's hand tightly (maybe a little too tightly, if the kick to the shin that she receives is any evidence). “It sure is.”

“We _did_ see a woman running down the street after that guy got knocked down,” Lydia adds. “She had long black hair and a red jacket.” Cora nods and, although the officer still looks a little unsure, that's quickly covered up by a smile as he slides his notebook back into his pocket. 

“Okay. We'll look into that. Thank you and happy anniversary to you both.” 

“Thanks,” Cora says, making her voice so syrupy that it almost makes her sick. As soon as the deputy leaves, Cora yanks her hand away. 

“What was that?” she hisses, watching the scene on the other side of the window out of the corner of her eye. 

“You're welcome,” Lydia says, pulling a mirror and a tube of lip-gloss out of her purse. It's only when she looks up that Cora realizes she just got her own words from the previous night thrown back at her, and she groans. 

“Thanks,” she says belatedly. Lydia just pops her lips and smiles again, snapping her mirror closed. There's only a little bit of coffee left in her cup, so Cora drains it, using the time it gives her to figure out her next words. 

“Do you want to try this again?” she blurts out, not quite sure where the words come from. “This day has just been... well, pretty fucking ridiculous, actually, and I was _so_ not prepared for this.” Lydia hums quietly before reaching across the table and brushing a strand of Cora's dark hair away from her face, and Cora has to blink back her surprise. 

“Sure. You pick the spot. Maybe somewhere that isn't near a bank or an alley.” Cora can't help the growl that falls from her lips, but Lydia doesn't seem perturbed by it. She simply rolls her eyes and takes another sip of tea, leaving a shiny pink lip print on the edge of the white cup. 

“Do you growl every time someone makes a joke?” 

“You'll have to find that out some other time,” Cora replies and Lydia smiles again. This time, when her foot touches Cora's shin, it's not so much a kick as it is a brush. 

“I plan on it.”

&. 

When Cora gets home, Derek and Stiles are both in the kitchen. Stiles is sitting on the edge of the counter, chattering away. Cora plans on ignoring him like usual, but she's just stepped onto the bottom stair when she catches a few of his words, and she stops to listen through the walls between them. 

"So I interviewed a bank robber today, like an actual famous bank robber," he says.

"Really?" Derek asks, amused lilt in his voice. 

"Yeah, I'm not kidding. Apparently he was wanted in like six states or something, and he tried to rob a place downtown and some girl just clotheslined him right onto his ass. Cracked his jaw, actually, it was all wired closed and stuff." 

"So how did he answer any of your questions?" 

"Okay, so maybe I didn't exactly interview him. I kind of just... went into his room and asked questions until a security guard came by. Wish that girl who did it hadn't run off. _That's_ an interview that would have gotten me promoted." 

"Doubt it." The step creaks underneath Cora's foot and seconds later, Derek sticks his head out of the kitchen. 

"Why do you smell like perfume again?" he asks, nostrils flaring, and even though Cora can feel herself flushing slightly, she rolls her eyes and hopes Derek doesn't see the change in her color. 

"Why do people usually smell like perfume?" she asks, stomping up the stairs. As soon as she reaches her bedroom, she stretches out on her bed and stares up at the ceiling, which is still dotted with tiny glow and the dark stars she'd stuck up there as a child. 

She's still in disbelief that any part of her day really happened; the three classes in a row, the incident with the bank robber, the date (if you could call it that) with Lydia. They'd scheduled another meet-up for Friday, this time to go see a movie, and just thinking about it makes Cora groan and roll over, burying her face into her pillow. 

She has no idea what she's doing, why she's even going through with the date. Lydia's beautiful but so far as Cora can tell, they have nothing in common, nothing at all. The only girls she's ever known like Lydia walked all over people, used them and left them just as quickly. That is _not_ something she wants to get involved in. She's already too involved in this town's bullshit. 

She should call it off. She should call it off now, before she loses her nerve, before things inevitably go completely downhill. The only problem with that idea is that she doesn't know Lydia's phone number, doesn't even have a last name that she could use to find her in the phone book. She knows that technically, she could solve things by just not showing up, but that would be a pretty shitty thing to do. 

So she decides to meet her at the theater after all. At the very least, she can tell Lydia that she appreciates the offer, but she's not really looking for a relationship at the moment. Yes, that's exactly what she's going to do and she is not going to change her mind about it.

&. 

Ten minutes later, she changes her mind.

After all, Lydia _had_ covered for her back at the coffee shop, had somehow known that dealing with the cops was the last thing in the world that Cora wanted to do. Even if they have nothing in common, at the very least, Cora has to properly thank her for that. 

So she decides that, not only will she meet Lydia at the theater, she'll go through with the whole date. If things are still awkward by the time the movie ends, then she can just cut things off, guilt free, and move on. It's simple. All she has to do is get through three days without over thinking everything or clotheslining another bank robber.

But that shouldn't be too hard.

&. 

She should know by now that _nothing_ in Beacon Hills is ever that fucking easy.

It's Wednesday night, and she can't sleep. Her mind won't stop racing, plaguing her with interspersed thoughts of her family in Brazil, of the idiots in all of her classes, of Lydia and even with a fan going and a breeze coming through the half-open window, the room is too damn hot, plus her bed feels hard as a rock. It's nights like these that she misses the hammocks that she used to sleep in and she can't help but wonder how Derek would react if she screwed one into the ceiling. 

Mainly though, it's Stiles' fucking police scanner that is keeping her awake. She has absolutely no idea how Derek can stand the thing. Even though his bedroom is down the hallway, separated from hers by a guest room that mainly doubles as a library, Cora can hear every single word that it broadcasts. Most of it is blasts of static and sheer gibberish, strings of alphanumeric codes that mean nothing to her. 

Even though Stiles is over (which means the risk of her walking in on something she _really_ doesn't want to see is way too high), if it doesn't stop chirping soon, she's going to get up and smash it to pieces. 

But before she reaches that point, she hears something that actually makes her sit up in bed and glance at the open window. It's just after one in the morning and although most of the transmission is still gobbledygook, she understands that two people have robbed a small convenience store. She recognizes the address of the place; it's fairly close, ten minutes if she's running. It's where she always went to buy candy when she was younger and wanted to get away from Laura and Derek. The fact that someone would rob it just pisses her off but it's the next sentence of the transmission that makes her kick off her thin blanket and reach for the nearest pair of jeans. 

“We have reports that the suspects are running into the Beacon Hills Preserve, does anybody copy, that's the Beacon Hills Preserve.”

&. 

The night sky is visible through the gaps in the trees, and, all things considered, it's a lovely night. But as much as Cora appreciates the view and the cool temperature, there's a specific reason that she left her bedroom with a coil of rope in her hands, and that reason has nothing to do with the weather. 

She's only outside for ten minutes before she hears two people crashing through the trees, snapping twigs and rustling leaves, panting so loud that it sounds like they're standing right next to her. They stop only twenty feet from where she's standing behind a tree trunk, waiting to make her move. 

"Holy fuck," one of them gasps and it sounds like a young man, probably close to her own age. "I think we lost them."

"For now," the other one says. "But they'll be-" 

The rest of the guy's words are swallowed up by a scream as he steps into the careful loop Cora had fashioned only moments before. In turn, it sets off a trap, yanking him into the air, rope secured around one ankle. Before the other guy can take off, Cora tackles him to the ground. Now that she's up close and personal, the smell of his tacky cologne is so thick that she can literally taste it. Even as she pushes him up against another tree trunk, swiftly wrapping the rope around his skinny chest before he even knows what's really going on, she can't help but roll her eyes. 

Seriously, is there a law in this town that states all the guys have to be gross, stupid, or related to her? 

"Who the hell are you?" the guy hanging upside down from the tree asks, swaying slightly as a breeze brushes past. 

"A concerned citizen," Cora says drily, making sure that the rope is tight around the other thief's chest before she steps away. She can hear more people coming through the woods and based on the barks she can hear as well, it's the deputies, with dogs by the sound of it. After she gets over the initial shock that comes with the fact that _holy crap Beacon Hills has search dogs_ , she pats the upside down guy on the cheek in the most condescending manner she can muster up. 

"Next time, steal from someone who actually deserves it," she says before turning on her heel and sprinting back towards the house. 

This time, even with the police scanner screeching down the hall, she falls asleep almost immediately.

&. 

Friday evening seems to pop up out of nowhere. One minute, Cora is sitting in her intro to criminal justice class and the next, she's standing outside the movie theater downtown, trying very strongly to resist the urge to bolt. She tries to keep telling herself that it's only for a few hours and then she can leave, can end things in their tracks, but that seems like it's years in the future. 

Besides, if Lydia doesn't arrive soon (she's already five minutes late), she might not have to end anything. It might already be over. 

Finally, just as Cora's decided to turn and leave, Lydia comes striding around the corner, her hair cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, effortlessly walking in staggeringly tall heels that do _not_ look comfortable. She's talking on her cell phone, and even though Cora tries not to listen in, she can't help but catch the last bit of the conversation. 

"Will you quit whining? You were being an asshole, so she threw you in a dumpster, and you deserved it. Good _night_ , Jackson." With that, she drops her phone in her purse and flashes Cora a quick-closed mouth smile. 

"Sorry I'm late. That was-"

"Is he your boyfriend?" Cora asks, suddenly overcome with the feeling that she's been misreading this entire situation. 

"Thankfully, no," Lydia answers. "He hasn't been that for a _long_ time. We just work together. Besides, I've got my eye set on someone much cuter." With that, she grabs Cora's hand and Cora lets herself be tugged into the building. 

"By the way, you didn't happen to clothesline anyone on the way here, did you?" Lydia asks after she's bought their tickets and before she can stop herself, Cora growls again. 

"So you do growl at every joke," she continues and strangely enough, she smiles again. Even stranger is the fact that she's still holding onto Cora's hand. Possibly the strangest part of all is that Cora actually likes it, even if she wants to flash her fangs at a bunch of teenagers who are staring at them like they're completely fucking shocked. 

"So did you hear about what happened in the preserve the other night?" Lydia asks once they're sitting down. Cora doesn't even know what the name of the movie they're seeing is but they've managed to score the prime seats at the back of the theater. 

"Yeah," Cora mutters, which _technically_ isn't a lie. The next morning, Stiles had been all up in a huff about the fact that the town's vigilante (who was apparently the most exciting thing to happen to Beacon Hills in years) had been mere minutes away from the house, and he'd been too asleep to try and find them. "Something about two thieves?" 

"Yep," Lydia says, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. "Tied to trees. The paper says there's a vigilante in town." 

"Yeah," Cora mutters again. Thankfully, the room goes dark at that moment, which saves her from having to come up with another response. 

The movie turns out to be a pretty inane comedy but at the very least, it saves Cora from having to go through small talk for an hour and a half. After the film finishes, Lydia grabs her hand again and Cora can't help but look down at where their fingers are intertwined. It's not that she doesn't like how their hands look together but the whole thing just doesn't seem to make sense in her head. After all the screw-ups she's made, why is Lydia even remotely interested in her still? 

More for that matter, why doesn't Cora just let go of her damn hand and cut things off, just like she planned? 

"How did you get here?" 

"What?" Cora asks, looking up from their hands to find that they're back outside on the mostly deserted sidewalk. Lydia is staring at her impatiently. 

"How did you get here?" she repeats, just in time for Cora to notice that the heels Lydia is wearing makes them the same height as each other.

"I walked?" 

"Well, then I'm driving you home," Lydia announces. "It's the least I can do."

"You really don't have to do that," Cora says but it's too late; Lydia is already striding down the block, heels clicking against the concrete, her grip still tight on Cora's hand. It would be easy enough to slip away but that would inevitably lead to a confrontation, and she really doesn't feel like getting into a fight on the street. Besides, she's already brought too much attention to herself over the last few days.

The drive is mostly quiet; Cora provides directions when needed, and it's only fifteen minutes later when they pull up in front of the (thankfully dark) house. Cora thinks that this is it, the last chance she'll have to cut things off, to stop things before they have a chance to develop any further. 

“It's kind of creepy out here,” Lydia says, peering out the windshield at the house which, admittedly, does look like something out of The Addams Family, with only the waxing moon and the dim bulb over the front door illuminating it. 

“Lydia,” Cora starts, but when she turns in her seat, her words get cut off by Lydia's lips touching her own. It's barely more than a brush, just long enough for Cora to assure herself that it's real but it's accompanied by... well, it feels like an actual _spark_ passes between them. 

Now she's never felt _that_ before.

“What the hell was that?” she asks, pulling back slightly, her lips still tingling. 

“No idea what you're talking about,” Lydia says innocently. Cora doesn't buy it, but she doesn't think it was anything dangerous, so she just licks her lips, wiping away the last sticky bits of Lydia's lip gloss. 

“Why are you out here?” she asks quietly because even if she ignores the weird spark incident, there's still something that isn't adding up for her. She still can't fathom exactly _why_ Lydia is doing all of this, unless it's out of some weird obligation or pity kind of thing. 

“Because I like you,” Lydia shrugs, rolling her eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Is that a crime?”

“No. But it doesn't really answer my question,” Cora says. “It doesn't tell me why you're kissing me after we've only gone on two dates.”

“Does it matter why? I _like_ you, Cora and I'd like to kiss you again, preferably before something creepy comes out of the woods and kills us. Sound good?” 

Cora supposes that she can get behind that idea. By the time Lydia pulls away, her cheeks flushed pink and her hair tousled from Cora's fingers, she's _definitely_ behind it.

&. 

For the most part, Saturday is the best day Cora's had since coming back to town. She has no school, she can sleep in and she doesn't have to worry about being woefully unprepared for a date with Lydia, since their next one isn't scheduled until Monday. She has all the time in the world to go for a thorough jog through the preserve, to take her time and get completely reacquainted with all the areas around the house. 

The ropes that she'd used to tie the two thieves to the trees are gone, aside from a few loose strands on the ground. She can't help but smile a little bit. The guys got what they deserved. Best of all, as far as she could tell based off of what she'd heard Stiles say that morning, no one was any the wiser as to _who_ had done the tying up.

“But Dad is convinced the town's got a vigilante,” he'd said, slurping from an absurdly large cup of coffee. “Me too. I just need to get a damn interview with them and-”

“Do you _ever_ shut up about your job?” she'd snapped on her way out the door, and, although Stiles had muttered something under his breath, she'd paid no attention to what it was. 

By the time she gets back from her run, Stiles is gone again, and when she bounds through the front door, the whole place smells like french toast. It smells so good that she almost misses Derek calling her name from the living room. 

Almost. 

When she steps inside, he's sitting on the couch, hands clasped between his knees, and she groans. She recognizes the pose immediately. It's his worried big brother pose and as much as she loves him, he just gets so damn _awkward_ whenever he tries to actually have a serious conversation with her. 

“What's up?” she sighs, leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms over her chest. Derek just stares at her for a weirdly long time and, yep, this is going to be awkward as hell.

“Did you have anything to do with the stuff that happened this week?” he finally asks and for all of a second, Cora is actually knocked off guard. She was expecting Derek to question her about perfume again, even though him and Stiles hadn't come back until after midnight, long after she'd showered off (most of) Lydia's scent. 

“No,” she answers, hoping that Derek didn't notice her momentary hesitation. “Why would you even think that?” 

“You've been acting strange lately.” 

“What can I say? It's kind of hard to get used to this place again,” she mutters, and thankfully, Derek just nods and doesn't try to push her for more of an explanation.

“So there's nothing else happening? Nothing that you want to talk about?” Almost involuntarily, Cora takes a moment to think of the night before. She thinks of how Lydia had smelled so good, thinks of the strange as fuck spark that had crackled between them on only their first kiss. She thinks of how soft Lydia's hair had been between her fingers, how she'd gasped quietly when Cora pressed her teeth against her lip, how when she'd looked into the mirror once she was back inside, there had been pink lip gloss smeared all around her mouth and down onto her neck. 

“Nope. Nothing.”

&.

Over the next two weeks, Cora becomes steadily convinced that there is some weird kind of chemical in Beacon Hills' water. There has to be. It's the only explanation as to why she keeps finding herself in the right (or wrong) place at the right (or wrong) time. 

A little over a week after the incident with the thieves finds her walking back from an evening class. Admittedly, school has gotten... well, she doesn't want to say it's gotten any better, because that would be a lie. But the majority of the assholes (at least the vocal ones) in her courses seem to have been weeded out, which has made things a _little_ more tolerable. 

But still, she can think of at least two dozen ways that she'd rather be spending her time, five of which have to do with Lydia.

She's cutting through the parking lot of a downtown restaurant when she sees a weirdly shaped hunk of metal sitting on the ground beside a parked car. It's a rough rectangle that looks like it's been welded together crudely, and when she takes a single step closer, she realizes that it's also making noise, a quiet ticking that would be almost completely imperceptible to a human. 

It's a _bomb_. A non-professional one, but a bomb nonetheless, and for a few seconds, she considers just grabbing the thing and lobbing it towards the empty side of the parking lot. But that just presents a whole other grab bag of issues; yeah, the thing may look like something a high schooler put together in metal shop, but that doesn't take away the possibility that it might blow her face or hands off if she picks it up and there _are_ some things that even werewolves can't heal from. She pulls her phone (surprisingly not dead) out of her pocket but just as she presses the 9 key, she realizes something even more fortunate. 

In the parking lot of the gas station across the street, there's a honest to God _pay phone._ There's no traffic on the road so she bolts across, finds a quarter buried in the pocket of her jeans and makes the call. 

The next day, when she comes into the kitchen to find Derek reading the paper, the massive headline on the front page reads **_Beacon Hills Vigilante Saves The Day Again!_**

&.

Three days later, while she's waiting for Lydia to pick her up outside the school, two guys (who look like they're still in high school) start harassing a girl who's waiting for the bus. The girl looks like she can hold her own but still, some of the stuff they're saying actually makes Cora a little sick. So she strides over and before either of the idiots can say anything to her, she flashes her eyes and growls at them, making sure that her fangs are showing. 

It succeeds in scattering the little fuckers, and what's even better is that Lydia arrives before the girl can ask any potentially awkward questions as well. 

“Why is that girl looking at you like you grew an extra head?” she asks, glancing back over her shoulder. 

“No idea,” Cora answers. After a moment, Lydia just shrugs and pulls out of the parking lot, saying something about getting Chinese food. 

They don't quite make it to the restaurant. They're idling at a red light and Cora is answering one of Lydia's questions about school (yes, it still sucks, thank you very much), and when Lydia doesn't answer her immediately, Cora turns to look at her, only to find Lydia already staring at her with her lips pursed slightly. 

“What?” 

“I'm not hungry anymore,” she says, pressing her foot down and blowing by the road that leads to the restaurant. Further up the street, there's a big-box store with a parking lot probably a mile wide, much of which is empty. Lydia pulls into a spot in the furthest corner, switches the car off and steps out of the driver's seat only long enough to climb into the back, where she sends Cora a pointed glance. 

“Coming?”

“You can't be serious,” Cora says, glancing out the windshield. “Here? Right now?” 

“Well, my apartment is kind of off limits at the moment,” Lydia says, offering no explanation, “so unless you want to go to your place, here it is.” That isn't an option either and truthfully, Cora isn't willing to let this opportunity pass her by, especially since she's _still_ confused about what Lydia is doing with her in the first place. So she simply climbs over the console into the back seat and she's hardly settled back against the leather before Lydia starts unbuttoning her floral blouse, revealing a lacy pink bra underneath. 

“Just be careful with the skirt,” she says, shrugging her shirt off and straddling Cora's lap, doing it all with a sense of grace that seems almost unnatural for a human. “It cost a fortune.” 

“I'm not promising you anything,” Cora replies. Lydia's skin is pale and smooth, dotted with a few tiny freckles here and there, and suddenly, Cora's overwhelmed with the feeling that her hands, with their claws just barely hidden beneath the surface, aren't made to touch something as gorgeous as the sight before her. She must be staring, because Lydia rolls her eyes and reaches down to grab her wrists, placing Cora's hands directly on the swell of her breasts. 

“I'm not a nun,” she mutters and when Cora squeezes gently, more than a little distracted by the contrast between slightly scratchy lace and warm, smooth flesh, Lydia sighs and tilts her head down, long hair cascading around Cora's face. 

“If you keep doing that, I might forgive you for any damage my skirt gets,” she says, her hands sliding through Cora's hair. 

“Deal,” Cora murmurs and the next time she squeezes, rubbing her thumbs over where Lydia's nipples are pressing against her bra, Lydia moans softly against her mouth and pulls Cora into a kiss. Cora really hopes that Lydia can't hear how fast her heart is racing. Yes, she has all the same equipment, and it isn't the first time she's touched a girl, but she's never been involved in anything this serious, this _different._

For starters, she's a little convinced that Lydia can read her mind. Cora has just started to toy with the idea of smoothing her hands up Lydia's back and unhooking her bra when Lydia does it for her. Seconds later, Lydia hitches her skirt up higher, just as Cora thinks that it might make things easier. 

“You're not psychic, are you?” she asks, not even caring that the question is more than a little ridiculous. Lydia just laughs quietly and brushes her fingers along Cora's stomach, pulling her shirt up. 

“I'm a lot of things, sweetheart, but psychic is not one of them.”

By the time everything is said and done, the florescent lights in the parking lot have switched on. Lydia is still in her lap, skirt hitched up to her waist, and by the feel of it, she's pulled almost all of the hair on the back of Cora's head into two thick braids. Cora's never liked anyone touching her hair (mainly because Laura used to use her as practice and almost always fucked it up spectacularly, leaving her with gnarls that hurt like hell to comb out) but Lydia seems to know what she's doing so Cora simply lets her continue, tracing her fingers up and down Lydia's smooth back while she waits for her to finish up. 

“Where do you work?” she asks while she waits because there's still not a lot she knows about Lydia. That should frighten her more than it does. 

“I freelance,” Lydia says, her hands brushing over Cora's shoulders. That doesn't really explain Cora's question (especially since she knows that Lydia apparently works with Jackson, and how do you freelance with two people?), but before she can push further, Lydia pecks her on the lips and plucks her bra off of the floor again. 

“I actually have to grab some stuff for work in there,” she says, nodding her head towards the store on the other side of the parking lot. “Did you want to come?” 

“I should probably head home,” Cora sighs. She's definitely been out later than she planned and if possible, she'd like to fit in a shower before Derek gets back. “I can just walk from here.” 

“Alright. Suit yourself,” Lydia shrugs, buttoning her blouse up and running her hands through her hair. Two passes through it with her fingers is all it takes to make her look perfect again, like she wasn't involved in anything more strenuous than watching a movie. But Cora can still smell it in the air, can smell the _want_ scent that lingers, her own and Lydia's mixed together. Lydia leans down for another quick kiss before she grabs her purse from the front seat and steps out, not wobbling a bit on her heels. 

“Just lock the door when you leave. I'll see you later, Cora.” With that, she closes the door behind herself, waves and starts making her way across the parking lot. Something about the action strikes Cora as strange, but she can't place it so instead, she turns in the seat to find her own bra, which somehow ended up by the back window. 

That's when she hears a strange, unpleasant noise, a screech of metal on metal. When she looks out the window, she realizes it's actually coming from ten parking spots away; there's a guy crouched on the ground, head swiveling back and forth, furiously working away at the lock of a parked car. Even as she does her bra back up and yanks her shirt over her head, he manages to get inside and starts pawing through the glove compartment.

“Hey!” she yells, only barely remembering to hit the lock button before she stumbles out of Lydia's car. The guy's head swivels around again and Cora realizes he's holding what looks like a GPS unit in his hands. She can't help but roll her eyes because seriously, don't they have one of those on everyone's phone now?

What is it with the people in this town? 

“Oh God,” the guy whimpers, tossing the GPS back into the car, “please don't tie me to a tree!”

 _“What?_ ”

“Well you're her, aren't you? The one they're talking about in the paper? The one who tied up those thieves in the forest?” For a moment, Cora is completely taken aback; yes, she'd known that the vigilante of Beacon Hills was the talk of the town (even if Derek didn't read the paper, it would be impossible not to know, since Stiles won't shut up about it), but she'd no idea that it was this serious, that people were actually going to recognize her. 

This has definitely gone too far. Still, she can't just let the guy steal, not when she's already confronted him. So she nods, trying to suppress a laugh when the guy visibly shudders. 

“Yeah, I'm her, but do you see any trees I could tie you to?” The guy shakes his head rapidly, and the sheer stench of fear coming off of him is almost laughable. 

“N-no,” he stammers. “But there's-”

“Exactly. Now, close the door and fuck off, or I'll have to get creative.” 

Cora waits until the guy has run across the street before she starts her own walk home, unraveling the braids as she goes. By the time she reaches the preserve, she realizes two things at once, both of which make her stop in her tracks. 

The first is that her shirt is on backwards, but it's too late to change that now. 

The second realization is a little more groundbreaking; now, she knows why Lydia's wave had seemed so strange. Before things had started, Lydia's fingernails had been bright pink, the same color as the flowers on her blouse. Cora knows this, because she had thought about commenting on it and then decided against it. Yet when Lydia had waved goodbye at her, just a quick wiggle of her fingers, her nails had been a vivid purple, almost florescent in color. 

Maybe Lydia isn't psychic, but Cora is sure that she's definitely _something._

&. 

Surprisingly, it's three days before Cora (or, rather, her alter-ego) ends up on the front page of the paper again. This time, the article is accompanied by a picture of the petty thief she'd encountered in the parking lot. According to the article (which she skims when Derek leaves the room), the guy turned himself in but after that, he provided a detailed description of her to the paper. 

Well, sort of. Cora knows that fear often impacts vision (and she _may_ have wolfed out a little bit), which would explain why the guy seems to think that her eyes are bright yellow and that her hair is a massive snarl of tangles and braids. 

Okay, so the description is pretty well spot-on. But she doesn't think that anyone is going to recognize it.

&. 

Just when she thinks she might actually catch a break, that she might actually be able to go a week without getting involved in the town's bullshit, Cora finds the cache of guns. 

It's five o'clock in the morning; the sun is just barely beginning to peek over the horizon and there's still dew on the grass but she's wide-awake, mostly due (once again) to the damn police scanner. It seems like as good a time as any to fit in a run so she starts off through the trees, feet pounding along trails that she knows like the back of her hand. It's one of the only parts of Beacon Hills that actually feels like home to her still, even after all the time she's spent away. 

She's run at least two miles, heading further into the forest towards the lookout cliff, when the front of her foot slams into something hard. The impact sends her sprawling to the ground (and it also breaks her toe, but that will heal soon enough). When she looks back, sure that she just missed a tree root, there's a black piece of metal sticking out of the ground. The dirt around it looks clawed up, like animals were digging at it and after a moment, Cora makes some marks of her own. It might be a little petty, but she's pissed that something has interrupted her routine.

The piece of metal that she tripped over turns out to be the corner of a chest and even without opening it, Cora knows what's inside. She can smell the gun oil and wolfsbane, and it makes her skin itch. She can't be certain how long the box has been buried for; she can't smell any human scent on it, just that of the animals that were trying to dig it up. It's possible that it's been sitting there for years, a relic from the time when hunters and packs had been clashing almost daily. 

She knows that she should tell Derek about it, but what's the point? 

So instead, once she's finished digging the thing up, she continues her jog to the lookout, the box heavy in her arms. Thankfully, it's too early for any couples to be making out there; it's empty, affording her a rather beautiful view of the sun rising over the city, spread out below her in the valley. She takes only a second to appreciate the sight before she gets as close to the edge of the cliff as she can bear and tosses the box over.

She waits until she hears it crack open on the rocks below before she turns around and starts the jog back.

&. 

By the time she meets Lydia at the coffee shop for their date that evening (exactly a month after their first official meeting), she's pushed the incident with the gun box into the back of her mind. It goes perfectly fine, but Cora can't help but feel like things aren't going anywhere. Yeah, they've had sex but beyond that, every date just seems to be a repetition of the last. 

Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, since each date has been pretty damn awesome (with the exception of the first), but still, Cora doesn't like the feeling of uncertainty it brings up. She lets that uncertainty stew in her mind until after they've left the coffee shop and started walking in silence down the alley where they first met. 

“What is this?” she asks bluntly, glancing at Lydia out of the corner of her eye. 

“Well, Cora, this is an alley-”

“I didn't mean _here_ ,” she sighs in frustration, wrapping her fingers around Lydia's wrist and stopping her. “I meant this. You and me. I don't like not knowing what we are.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Cora?” The voice that says her name is _not_ Lydia's and as much as she'd like to just ignore it, Stiles Stilinski isn't like most of the annoying things in her life; he won't just go away if she stops paying attention to him. She sighs and, still holding Lydia's wrist, turns towards where Stiles is standing at the mouth of the alley. 

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?” she asks. 

“I'm on an assignment,” he says, and all it takes is Cora raising her eyebrow for him to rescind the comment. “Okay, so I'm looking for the vigilante, all right?” 

“Well, you found her,” Cora replies drily. “I'm the damn vigilante and this is how I spend my time off, skulking in alleys.”

“Oh wow, sarcasm, that's a surprise.” His eyes drift towards Lydia but before he can say anything, Cora feels Lydia's fingers slide in between her own, squeezing tightly. 

“I'm sorry, I don't think we've met,” she says almost genially, but Cora still catches the hint of an edge in her voice. 

“This is Stiles. He's dating my brother,” Cora mutters. 

“Oh! Well, I'm Lydia, Cora's girlfriend. Now, would you please excuse us? We were actually in the middle of something.” Based solely on the look on his face, Cora is pretty sure that Stiles' mind is about to implode. Just for good measure, she kisses Lydia's cheek. 

“Oh wow,” he stammers. “I'll go then. Good luck with whatever you two were doing.” She nods and as soon as he's disappeared from sight, she turns back to Lydia, who is smiling at her with a hint of a blush playing around her cheekbones. 

“Does that answer your question?” Lydia asks, one perfect eyebrow arched, and Cora nods, feeling relief wash over her. 

“You're sure?” she asks, just in case. “You're sure you want that?”

“Yes. Why, do you _not_ want it?” Cora shakes her head quickly, squeezing Lydia's hand again. 

“No, I do. This is actually the best thing that's happened to me since I came back to this place.”

“Good,” Lydia grins before leaning in for a kiss. This time, there's not so much a spark as there is a _jolt_ that leaves Cora's lips and tongue tingling. She doesn't comment on it; she simply leans in for more, twirling a lock of Lydia's hair around her fingers, not caring that they're in plain sight of anyone who walks by the alley. 

Hopefully Stiles doesn't come back, because Cora is pretty sure he'd have a heart attack and that is _not_ something she wants to explain to her brother.

She doesn't know how much time passes between the time that first spark goes through her lips and the time they finally step away from each other. Realistically, she knows that it's probably only been a few minutes but it feels like hours, maybe even a day, and she's actually _panting_. Beyond that, her entire body seems to be thrumming, like there's a current passing through her. It isn't unpleasant, not exactly, but it's _bizarre_. When she looks at Lydia, the other girl's cheeks are flushed pink, and when she brushes a lock of Cora's hair away from her face, her nails have _definitely_ changed color, from a pastel orange to a bright red. 

“Seriously, what _are_ you?” Cora asks, trying not to suck in a gulp of air.

“I'm your girlfriend. Duh,” Lydia says, pecking her on the cheek again before grabbing Cora's hand and tugging her back down the alley. “Now, weren't you going to show me this preserve that you love so much?”

“I don't know if you're wearing the right shoes for it,” Cora says, glancing down at Lydia's stilettos. 

“I'll worry about the heels, you worry about getting us there,” Lydia retorts. “Sound like a deal?”

&. 

Cora should have figured that the night was going too well.

The walk had started off as good as the rest of the night. Better, actually, because although Cora never felt truly comfortable out in the city, surrounded by smells and noise and people that she couldn't completely block out, the forest was different. The forest always felt like home, and oddly enough, having Lydia there didn't feel like an invasion. Somehow, Lydia seemed to know that the forest was special; she'd been quiet from almost the moment they'd entered the trees, effortlessly balancing in her heels like she'd walked the ground thousands of times.

“Coming?” she'd called back over her shoulder after Cora had started lagging behind, almost entranced by the easy, graceful way Lydia stepped over roots and rocks, running her fingers along the trunk of a tree like she was trying to memorize its texture. Cora had caught up to her quickly, reaching out for Lydia's hand again, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as they went further and further into the preserve. 

“Can you still see?” she'd asked and Lydia had twirled around to face her, not letting go of her hand, the faint glow of the moon catching on her cheekbones. 

“Yep. Can _you_?” 

“Yeah,” Cora had shrugged, trying not to be too obvious about it, aware that her vision was flickering faintly yellow. She'd opened her mouth to say something else but the words were quickly forgotten when a breeze brushed by her face, bringing with it the smell of humans, somewhere nearby-

With her next step, the world had gone topsy-turvy.

Now, she's upside down, a rope tight around her ankles, the same kind of trap she'd used to ensnare one of the petty thieves so many weeks ago. Worse still, it's the same kind of trap that hunters use to catch werewolves. 

“Lydia, you need to get out of here,” she says, groaning as the breeze makes her sway again, causing her stomach to flip. “Please, the people who set this up, they-”

“I know who they are,” Lydia says casually, looking strangely unperturbed by the whole situation. Her heartbeat hasn't even changed; it's still strong and steady in Cora's ears. “Don't worry. I can handle this.” 

“ _What?_ ” Cora hisses. She can hear the hunters coming now, their boots crunching on the ground. “Lydia, this isn't some pretty-boy deputy, you need to leave!”

“Cora, I said I can handle it!” Lydia snaps, whirling on her feet, her heartbeat finally rising slightly. “I have this, okay? Just trust me.” She turns back around and, growling in frustration, Cora tries to swipe at the rope with her claws as the humans get closer and closer. 

“That's her,” a man's voice says a few moments later. “That's the wolf who found our guns.”

Well, looks like one of her secrets is out. Now that the cat's out of the bag, Cora doesn't hold off; she howls as loud as she can, hoping desperately that Derek can hear her. By the time her howl dies out, another hunter has joined the first and it sounds like there are two more still in the trees, just out of her sight. 

“We don't have any problem with you,” the first one says to Lydia, who is still standing in front of Cora, her arms crossed over her chest. “It's her that we're concerned about.”

“Well, unfortunately, I have a problem with _you_ ,” Lydia says, raising her hand and snapping her fingers once. Out of nowhere, bright light fills the air, like the flash of a massive camera going off. When Cora finishes blinking, she's certain that she's hallucinating or that she's already passed out because there's no way that she's actually seeing what's before her. 

Even with her human vision, she can see the faint glow Lydia is giving off, a wispy light that's pink and purple and orange, all at the same time. The light is more concentrated around her hands, to the point where it looks like she's holding two translucent globes in her palms. When she sends Cora a smile over her shoulder, her cheekbones seem sharper and her eyes seem brighter. Even her hair is different; it's messier, hanging around her shoulders in haphazard ringlets that seem to suit the forest better.

What the _hell_ is going on?

“I'm guessing you guys didn't get the memo,” Lydia sighs when she turns back to the hunters, clucking her tongue for emphasis. “Jackson was supposed to deliver the message to every hunter in the area.” 

“And what message is that?” the second hunter asks. Even though his voice is strong and steady, his heart betrays him. 

“This town, and all the supernatural creatures in it, are under _my_ protection,” Lydia says. She snaps her fingers again and the rope around Cora's ankle snaps, sending her to the ground in a very ungraceful sprawl of limbs that she'd be embarrassed about any other time. “If you have a grievance with one of them, you come to me, or another member of my coven. We'll talk it out in a civilized manner. Do you understand?” 

“And what if we don't feel like doing that?” the first hunter retorts. Lydia scoffs and with a quick flick of her fingers, the hunter's gun flies out of his hands and smashes into the nearest tree. 

“I believe that should answer your question,” she says. “Now, leave, and take your ridiculous grudges with you.” For a few moments, the hunters stay where they are and Cora flicks her claws out, bearing her fangs for good measure. She doesn't know how intimidating it is, considering that she's still woozy, but after an exchange of whispers, the hunters leave. It's only when she can no longer hear their footsteps among the trees that Cora turns, just as the glow around Lydia begins to fade.

“So, I'm dating a werewolf,” Lydia says, turning with a rustle of her skirt. “I was wondering how long I'd have to wait before I could say that.”

“How long have you known?” Cora asks and Lydia shrugs, brushing her fingers along Cora's hairline like she's inspecting for any injuries.

“Since day one. You threw a guy twice your size into a dumpster. It wasn't very subtle.” Cora feels her face flush with warmth; Lydia does have a _very_ good point. 

“So, I'm dating a witch?” she asks, remembering Lydia's use of the word coven. She doesn't know a whole lot about witches, just some tales her mother had told her when she was small. “Witches _actually_ exist?”

“They do.” Cora turns just in time to see Derek break through the trees, obviously having run the entire way from the house. “And some of them, like her, are incredibly powerful.” 

“I see _you_ got the memo,” Lydia says. The glow around her has faded completely and her features have grown softer again. “Derek, I presume?” 

“Wait, you knew about Lydia?” Cora asks, turning towards her brother. 

“Sort of. I knew there was a new witch in town and Stiles just called to tell me that you were dating a girl named Lydia, but I didn't know they were the same person.”

“Of course he told you,” Cora mutters. She makes a mental note to threaten the little bastard the next time she sees him. 

“While we're all standing here, are there any more secrets we need to air out?” Lydia asks and Cora makes a split-second decision. It's the best opportunity she'll have, after all. 

“I'm the vigilante,” she sighs, running a hand through her tangled hair. “The one they've been talking about in the paper. It's me.” 

“I know,” Lydia and Derek say at the same time and Cora groans. Of _course_ they already knew. 

“Again, sweetheart, you're not very subtle,” Lydia adds, brushing her lips against Cora's temple and just like that, the last bit of wooziness disappears from her head.

“How did _you_ know?” Cora asks Derek, more out of curiosity than anything. 

“Cora, you're my sister. I know when you're lying. I'm going to tell Stiles, but I'll make sure he doesn't bug you for an interview.”

She thinks that might be the nicest thing her brother has ever done for her.

Lydia says that she has to go consult with her coven about the hunters, to make sure that they keep an eye out. Before she leaves, she presses a lingering kiss to Cora's cheek and when Cora turns around after Lydia has left, Derek is looking at her with one eyebrow raised, an amused smile plastered on his face. 

“Shut up,” Cora growls preemptively. “Shut _up_.”

“I didn't say anything,” he protests. “But a witch, Cora? _Really_?” 

“You're dating a human, Derek, you have no room to judge.” Derek simply shrugs, as if to concede the point before he turns back towards the house. They don't exchange another word until they've reached the front step. Before they go inside, Derek lays a hand on her shoulder, and this time, his smile is far from amused. 

“I'm glad you're okay,” he says quietly, and Cora nods, stepping into a tight hug, one of the few she's given Derek since she came back from Brazil. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

&. 

She doesn't hear from Lydia for the rest of the night, but she doesn't take it too personally; she has no idea how covens work after all. Maybe their meetings take days. Maybe there's some complicated rituals involved, rituals that involve animal slaughter or chanting in some strange ancient language. 

_Maybe_ she should actually do some research, just so she knows what she's actually getting into. 

The next day, Derek takes off early in the morning, before Cora's even gotten out of bed. When she's finally hungry enough to drag herself downstairs, she finds a note on the kitchen table, one that makes her roll her eyes. 

_with Stiles today for anniversary. will be back tomorrow._

She has no idea how long they've been dating, and to be honest, she doesn't really care. She's just happy that she has the house to herself for the whole day, because it means that she can spend the day doing research in peace. 

The day passes by in a blur as she combs through a number of the books from the library upstairs, using a dictionary to (roughly) translate the ones that are in Latin. When she hears a knock at the front door, she looks up to find that not only is it dark outside, it's raining, and she hasn't eaten since breakfast. There's only one person she can think of who would knock, so she's not surprised when she peeks outside to see Lydia standing on the porch. Despite the downpour, both her hair and her blue trench coat look completely dry. 

Somehow, Cora isn't surprised by that either.

“It's cold,” Lydia says, brushing by Cora as soon as she opens the door. “Derek's not home, right?” 

“Not until tomorrow. I can make some tea, if you want,” Cora says, closing the door behind her. When she turns around, she blinks a few times, just to make sure that what she's seeing isn't a hallucination from not drinking or eating enough all day. Lydia has already dropped her purse, kicked off her heels and shed her trench coat, leaving her standing in front of Cora in nothing but a pastel pink bra and matching panties. 

“Maybe later?” she asks. “I'd kind of like to see your bedroom first.” Cora feels absurdly disheveled by comparison, but based on how she can already smell _want_ , she doesn't think that she needs to worry about her appearance for the time being.

“Okay,” she says, a little bit of wolf creeping into her voice as she takes Lydia's hand. “Bedroom first.” 

By the time she collapses into a heap against her pillow, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. Her body is slicked with sweat, Lydia's taste is thick in her mouth and her lips are still tingling slightly from kissing the witch. Truth be told, the tingling is almost approaching numbness but she really doesn't mind, not in the slightest. Lydia presses one last kiss to her cheek before she slides over slightly, her head resting on Cora's shoulder, humming quietly as she traces the lines of her ribs, making goosebumps rise all over Cora's torso. 

“Can you control that?” Cora asks after a few moments, relaxing further into the bed. She doesn't think she's ever been so comfortable in her entire life. “I mean, the thing that happens when we kiss?” 

“Not really,” Lydia says quietly. “You're the first person I've ever felt it with. I'm still trying to figure out what it is.” There are implications to that, implications that should make Cora want to run for the hills but instead, she just sighs contentedly and presses her face into Lydia's strawberry scented hair, the very definition of blissful. 

At least until the fucking police scanner goes off again. By now, Cora understands most of what she hears on it and right now, it's announcing that someone has stolen a car from a dealership downtown, only twenty minutes away if she runs.

Lydia snaps her fingers once and just like that, the scanner switches off, plunging the house back into the most peaceful near-silence Cora has ever experienced. 

“You're going to put the sheriff's department out of their jobs,” Lydia murmurs, dropping her hand back onto Cora's chest, fingers just barely skimming along the underside of her breast. “Why don't we both take the night off?” 

“That's a great idea,” Cora says, and before Lydia can say anything else, Cora leans in for another kiss that makes her entire body thrum like a live wire.

&. 

When Cora wakes up the next morning, Lydia is still asleep, facing the window, the sun illuminating the freckles that speckle her shoulders. Cora doesn't want to wake her yet, but she can't resist brushing her fingers over each tiny freckle, and it's while she's completing that task that she comes to a conclusion. 

Frankly, Beacon Hills still sucks. That hasn't changed in the last month. The place has way more than its fair share of assholes (two thirds of which seem to go to the community college), most of the town smells weird, and the interns for the local paper are way too damn nosy. 

But maybe the town isn't _all_ bad. After all, it does have a resident witch that she's very, very fond of.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
